Learning to Breathe
by vampirepenguin
Summary: Some things, you can't heal. Sakura knows this. [InoSakura, mild ShikamaruTemari][winner of challenge 3 on the LJ comm pigxforehead]


**AN:** This was written for the challenge at the LJ comm pigxforehead. Prompt was "some things, you can't heal" Warnings for femmeslash, het implications, and character death.

**EDIT**ed about two minutes after uploading for formatting issues.

* * *

It should be raining, Sakura thinks, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her funeral blacks. Someone's banging on her door.

"I'm coming," she yells, and her voice is hoarse and cracked and it hurts to talk, much less shout.

She gathers up her sandals, tugging them on as she moves across the room. It's Shikamaru, of course, managing to make his own blacks look like he's left them in the bottom of his closet for a week, then slept in them.

For all she knows, he probably did.

"You ready?" he asks.

She's dressed and her hair is about as good as it's ever going to be. She shakes her head, but steps outside and locks the door anyway. She'll never be ready for this sort of thing.

It's warm and sunny as they exit the apartment building, and Sakura tilts her head up, feeling warmth on her face. He paces beside her, silent. She gets the feeling that he'd have his hands shoved in his pockets if the blacks had pockets.

She wonders if he blames her. She wouldn't blame him, but then again, he'd been a mile away and out cold at the time.

She remembers blood on her hands and shivers, clenching them into fists behind her back.

She hates funerals. In a Hidden Village in the middle of a war, there are always mass funerals, hurried affairs between battles. She's a little surprised that they let Shikamaru off-duty long enough to attend this one.

Up the hill, up the stairs. There are many people there already, and Sakura almost turns around and bolts. She does duck her head and stare at her feet, blinking furiously.

Shikamaru brushes past her, moving easily to the front, taking his place beside Ino.

Sakura swallows hard and follows him, moving to stand behind Ino. Hesitantly, she reaches forward, squeezes her friend's hand. She wants to offer comfort, let Ino cry into her shoulder. It's not appropriate, not here, not now.

There's an eerie similarity in the two disparate survivors, in the pale lines of their faces, distant and blank.

Rule twenty-five, Sakura knows. But Ino clutches at her hand, fingers cold and shaking. Shinobi are human, and a human can never completely divorce herself from emotion.

Like right now.

Sakura knows there was no way she could have prevented this. She's not stupid and she's not a masochist. She knows that her team was pushing hard to arrive even when they did (just in time for the cleanup, in time to set Shikamaru's leg and fix Ino's concussion), knows that Chouji had been dead almost a quarter of an hour when they'd arrived.

Some things, you just can't heal.

That doesn't stop her from wondering, wishing. Doesn't stop the dizzy self-recriminations.

Chouji didn't deserve to die. Sakura hadn't known him very well, only as part of Ino's team, but she knows that. Of course, it doesn't matter whether or not it's deserved—that's the way of the world. She knows that, but it still hurts.

The world isn't right. People die when they shouldn't and it hurts. And Sakura feels selfish, because she's still wondering if Ino and Shikamaru blame her for not being able to fix it. It's a sick feeling, nestled in the pit of her stomach, all tangled up with her own guilt and regret.

But as the room is filling, familiar faces filing past, Ino twines her fingers with Sakura's and squeezes.

Ino needs this, Sakura thinks.

Sakura needs this too. It came so close. There's a mass of white bandages wound awkwardly around the join of Ino's collarbone and neck. A little bit higher and Ino's picture would be up there on that table next to Chouji's.

And she feels selfish and small for being glad that Ino's alive, that she's all right.

* * *

It's chilly as the sun sinks below the horizon, and Sakura wishes she dared rub her arms to restore circulation. Her legs feel numb and clumsy and she wishes she'd thought to wear pants. 

But she stays where she is, waiting for Ino.

She doesn't want to intrude on this—there's Ino and Shikamaru, and Asuma-san, and she remembers the funny comfortably claustrophobic feeling she always associates with her team.

At least none of her boys are dead.

She tries very hard not to append a 'yet' on the end of that thought and shivers.

And then there's Ino, looking small and cold as she nods her goodbyes to Asuma-san and Shikamaru, walking over to Sakura. Moving in close as Sakura wraps her arms around her, winding fingers in her hair, pressing her face into her neck. Sakura squeezes her eyes shut and holds Ino tight.

Ino isn't crying, hasn't cried yet. She won't, not in public. It's a funny sort of pride for Ino to hold onto, Sakura thinks.

They step apart after a moment, and Ino absently tucks a lock of pink hair behind Sakura's ear.

"I'm sorry," Sakura says, feeling the lump rising in her throat. She always tells herself she won't cry, that tears don't help anything anyway, but she can't seem to help herself sometimes.

Ino is quiet for a long moment. Then, "Me too," she whispers.

* * *

Time passes, and things get better. The war no longer looks as hopeless, and Sakura starts to wonder if maybe they can win this after all.

But there's still a steady influx of patients to the hospital, waiting for Sakura to patch them up and send them back out to get killed. Her heart is in her throat every time Ino gets sent out.

(Ino is clever and Ino is brave and Ino is strong, but Ino is also headstrong and overconfident.)

And Sakura worries about her, because Ino's smile is brittle now and she cries at night, when all Sakura can do is hold on and cry with her. Others have died, it's true, and if Sakura thinks hard, she can remember everyone's name, everyone's face, her own Hero's Stone in her head.

But Sakura worries about Ino, and feels horribly selfish for it, wrapped up in her own world, her own people. Naruto is in danger, too, every day, but his fake smiles are easier to believe. She doesn't think about Sasuke.

She worries about Ino. Ino worries about Shikamaru.

Sakura can't muster up the strength of empathy to be anything but angry at Ino's teammate. He has no right to be acting the way he is, throwing his meager strength Naruto-style at any obstacles he comes across, in the hospital after most missions, quieter than ever. Ino needs him (and he needs Ino).

She's heard a lot about Shikamaru's so-called genius, but she thinks right now his stupidity would do Naruto proud. (She wonders briefly if she's being unfair, jealous of the time Ino spends with him.)

Nights are the worst, after Ino's fallen asleep, breathing slow and even, long hair a tangle over the pillow. (She always leaves it down at night, then complains about how much time it takes to get it orderly in the morning. Sakura's written this off as an Ino-syncrasy.) Sakura has never been very good at falling asleep whenever, if she's not already exhausted. And these days, her shifts at the hospital haven't been doing a very good job of tiring her out.

So she watches Ino sleep and wonders if there was any way this could have been avoided.

Some things, you can't heal, Tsunade would tell her. Tsunade would know, drowning regrets in sake every other day or so.

Mostly, Sakura just hates herself for feeling jealous of what Ino's team had. Even now, something whispers to her, at least it was a clean loss. No betrayal to deal with, just a simple death. This is just survivor's guilt, nothing complicated about it. Nothing like the furious tangle of emotion riding low in her chest that makes her want to kill Sasuke and scream at him and cry on his shoulder, all at the same time.

Those are the bad nights, and Sakura buries her face in Ino's neck, Ino's hair, and tries very hard not to think.

* * *

Weeks drag by. Sakura hears a commotion in one of the patient's rooms one morning and rushes over, registering in the back of her mind that it's Shikamaru in there, presently, recovering from a nasty dose of Rain poison.

She's all set and ready to burst in and demand what's going on (she doesn't remember letting any visitors in yet, other than Ino, who'd left almost an hour ago), when someone inside yells loud enough for her to make out exact words.

_"—think you're the only one hurting, do you?"_

Even muffled by the walls, Sakura knows that voice. It's not Ino.

Suna is still their closest ally at this point. Sand-nins are in and out of Konoha all the time. Sabaku no Temari particularly. Sakura would have to be deaf not to recognize her voice (even raised in anger).

Carefully, she slides the door open a fraction, peering around it.

Temari's got him by the collar, right up in his face. "You're needed," she snarls. "And you're not very good at the angst. Leave it to the pretty-boys, Nara, and get your ass back on the line!"

Sakura doesn't quite crow in victory, but it's a close thing. Quietly, she closes the door and steps back, making a mental note to take Temari out for a drink later.

* * *

Shikamaru's out of the hospital that afternoon. Back on active duty the next day. Out on the front lines by the end of the week.

Two months later, the war's over.

"Good to see you finally got your head out of your ass," Ino remarks cheerfully, watching as Sakura unwinds the bandages around his head, examining the shallow-but-nasty cut that runs straight across his eye. Thanks to Hinata's timely assistance, he won't lose any function, but he will have a scar.

Shikamaru growls and takes a half-hearted swipe at her. But they're both smiling and Sakura doesn't know if she wants to knock their heads together or cry.

There's still a shadow to them, an unconscious space between them where Chouji would sit. Shikamaru is too thin and exhausted, and Ino has dark circles under her eyes, and Sakura's not sure if she can blame that on the war they've just won or if it's something that goes all the way back to the funeral.

But at least they're smiling, now.

Some things, Sakura knows, you can't heal. Those are the things where you just have to let time take its course.

She's glad to have her loud, cheerful Ino back, even if there is a sadness to her smiles, a shadow to her eyes.

* * *

It's perhaps a week later when Shikamaru shows up during her break at the hospital. He looks so serious, for a moment Sakura wonders if something's happened to Ino.

But he'd be more distraught if that were the case, she thinks. As it is, he shoves his hands in his pockets and scuffs a sandal on the floor. She's reminded of a twelve-year-old whose sole commentary on his promotion had been "what a pain in the ass."

"Look, Ino and I were talking," he says, awkward and wary. "We're down a man. You're down two. It would seem…I think…" He breaks off, shaking his head. "She would worry less, I mean. If you were on our team, and not running alone all the time."

Sakura blinks.

"Tactically, I think it's a good match," he goes on, shifting his weight uncertainly from foot to foot. "And I've been trying to get healers on regular teams for years." He chews on his lip a little, eyeing her.

A moment's silence. Sakura doesn't know what to say to an offer like that. Team Ten has—had—been together more or less since birth. They're like siblings, like family.

No one had ever brought up the idea of replacing Chouji.

He hunches his shoulders a little. "Not trying to pressure you into anything," he mutters. "Just wanted to ask. Think about it."

He's walking away when Sakura finally finds her voice.

"Shikamaru-kun, wait."

He looks back over his shoulder, the bored mask in place over his face, ready for disappointment.

"Tell Ino I'd love to," she says, and smiles. "I'll talk to Tsunade-sama tomorrow."

The corner of his mouth twitches into a reluctant replying smile.

"It'll mean a lot to her," he says.

* * *

**Endnotes:** This is a lot longer than my usual stuff, but it just kept growing, until randomly deciding it was finished. 2K words and change, whee. 


End file.
